


Habit

by RZZMG, smutty_claus



Series: Hermione x Draco x Theodore stories [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Arranged Marriage, Best Friends, Breaking Up & Making Up, Drinking to Cope, Drug Dealing, Drug-Induced Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Graduation, Growing Up, HP: EWE, Heartbreak, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Paris (City), Post Hogwarts AU, Recreational Drug Use, Second Chances, Slytherin games, Tea & Spice Shop, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8896855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: Hermione falls in love with Draco during their eighth year, but his future is set by a pre-arranged marriage from which there is no escape. Fortunately, Theo is there to help her pick up the pieces of her broken heart. Years later, she and Draco meet again in Paris, and the spark is still there between them, and it still burns hot…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mere_whispers](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mere_whispers).



> Prompts used: “Light BDSM. Dom/sub - only in the bedroom. I really relish breasts stimulation, too. I LOVE pining, crushing desires 'cause the other person's in a relationship. Heartbreaks are good stuff, too. Make me weep, and I'll love you. He is jealous that they are a couple. He's the ex, and is impossibly smitten by her. TRIAD”. Avoué = French for “a legal professional in an international court who’s serves in the same capacity as both a junior barrister and a senior solicitor”. Dear “mere_whispers”: I tried to hit your major prompts, and hope you enjoy it! Much love to you! THANK YOU SO MUCH to the wonderful Mods, Glitter_pink and Nightfalltwen, who graciously allowed me an extension to finish this exchange piece, and who tirelessly work to put on this fest for us! HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL!

**To: **mere_whispers**  
From: Your Secret Santa.**

 

 

>   
>  **Title:** Habit  
>  **Author:**  
>  **Pairing:** Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Theo, Draco/Hermione/Theo  
>  **Summary:** Hermione falls in love with Draco during their eighth year, but his future is set by a pre-arranged marriage from which there is no escape. Fortunately, Theo is there to help her pick up the pieces of her broken heart. Years later, she and Draco meet again in Paris, and the spark is still there between them, and it still burns hot…  
>  **Rating:** NC-17 (MA)  
>  **Length:** 16,275 words  
>  **Warnings:** Explicit het sex (consensual – virginity loss, m/f twosome, m/f/m threesome), explicit profanity, recreational drug use, alcohol binging, smoking, Slytherin manipulations, angst-angst-angst, discussion of pregnancy, implied cheating (off-screen by secondary character), EWE  
>  **Author’s Notes:** Prompts used: “Light BDSM. Dom/sub - only in the bedroom. I really relish breasts stimulation, too. I LOVE pining, crushing desires 'cause the other person's in a relationship. Heartbreaks are good stuff, too. Make me weep, and I'll love you. He is jealous that they are a couple. He's the ex, and is impossibly smitten by her. TRIAD”. Avoué = French for “a legal professional in an international court who’s serves in the same capacity as both a junior barrister and a senior solicitor”. Dear “mere_whispers”: I tried to hit your major prompts, and hope you enjoy it! Much love to you! THANK YOU SO MUCH to the wonderful Mods, **Glitter_pink** and **Nightfalltwen** , who graciously allowed me an extension to finish this exchange piece, and who tirelessly work to put on this fest for us! HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL!
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

“Granger, Granger, _Granger…_ ”

Her name was a litany on his lips, a sexy tumbling of syllables Draco chanted like a man driven by regret and guilt and the desire for forgiveness.

Hermione gave him what he sought, along with her innocence.

His soft, platinum hair slid between her fingers as his hips drove relentlessly into her. Not gentle, this. Her first experience was not the soft, tender thing she’d always hoped it would be. It was, instead, fusion by fire, negation and completion…a sacred understanding.

Even as he strained for his own finish, Draco’s fingers lightly caressed her nipple. “You’re so sensitive here,” he whispered in her ear, his hips snapping and thighs clenching.

“Yes,” she confessed on a breathy sigh, tightening her legs and arms around him. “Oh, yes…”

His lips wrapped around the tight bud and he suckled hard, fiercely, and the tension within her broke open, tipping her over into white-hot pleasure. Hermione cried out, pulling Draco closer, forcing him to plough as deep into her as he possibly could. Her body exploded with so much sensation that she saw stars.

As her climax passed through her, her body ached with such sweet bliss that it brought tears to her eyes.

Her lover groaned and pulled her hips up and into his with a bruising hold as he thrust once more, and then he was coming inside her as her cunt trembled around him. “Granger,” he sighed again into the lee of her throat, and bit down there, too, leaving his marks all over her. “Granger, _Granger…_ ”

As he jerked, emptying himself into her, she whispered his name against his pulse and clung to him. 

Slowly, as Draco succumbed to exhaustion within her embrace, Hermione began to relax her muscles as well, dropping her feet back to the mattress and straightening out her legs. She was sore and stretched from head to toe, but deliciously warm, and hoped he didn’t pull away immediately. If he would stay for a little while to continue sharing his body’s heat and strength with her, she could endure the coming dawn and what it would bring with it. Hated, cold reality would return soon enough and forced them apart, but for now, she prayed he’d let himself continue to fall, as she had.

He did, staying inside her, even as he softened, and then, his breathing evened out and she knew Draco had fallen asleep in her arms.

It was done, she thought, as she lay under him and stared up at the green velvet canopy above his bed. The sexual tension that had built between them all this year as Head Boy and Head Girl had finally culminated in the forbidden, ending in his bed. Now, Hermione knew, came the hard part: keeping a repeat from happening, for Draco would use this new-found power of sex against her, Slytherin that he was, until he’d used her up and moved on, as was his way. If she wasn’t careful, she would end up as every other witch he’d had in this same room over the last six months—rode hard and hung up wet…derided and dismissed.

That wasn’t going to happen to her, she’d decided long before this night. There was still a little more than two months left until graduation, and she wasn’t going to be on the receiving end of a cruel cut-direct. Better to end it before it began, to let this be all there was to be between them: sex with no strings.

She told herself that continuously throughout the night as he woke from brief naps to have her again and again, as if he was an addict and she his drug of choice. Withholding the emotions that had crept up unexpectedly in her chest, refusing to give voice to the feelings she’d been holding in check since Christmas, when she’d first admitted to herself just how deep down the rabbit hole she’d gone in regards to the Malfoy heir, proved to be an exercise in restraint. For the first time, she’d nearly failed in that regard.

When she slipped from Draco’s bed in the early light of dawn and crossed the hall to her own room, Hermione made up her mind on the matter, however. There would be no repeat. None.

Unfortunately, Draco had always had a bad habit of refusing to comply with her well-considered plans.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~  
_One month later_  
.~.~.~.~.~.~**

He loved tearing Granger’s clothes off. The indignant gasp she gave as he ripped something from her body, the fire in her eyes that berated him for his carelessness and his audacity made him harder than granite.

Every. Fucking. Time.

Four weeks, and he still couldn’t get enough of her. He shagged her every day, at least once, sometimes more, frenzied and insatiable in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d first hit puberty and was wanking five times a day. Hermione never complained, however. In fact, she welcomed him into her, occasionally initiating their liaisons with a suggestive word or wink or smile, and at times she was just as lusty, tearing at him with a feverish gleam in her eyes.

They were good together— _really_ good. Just as he’d known they’d be.

 _“You and Granger are compatible intellects and opposite temperaments,”_ Theo had once commented on the subject back in fifth year, when Draco had casually dropped girls into their conversation, and invariably, the swot of their class had come up. _“She’s amusing, well-mannered, ambitious, quite pretty, and kind. Blood aside, she’s perfect for you,”_ his best friend had said.

He’d replied in jest that it sounded as if Theo had given Potter’s ‘golden girl’ some serious thought in that regard, and the guy had simply given an enigmatic little shrug and then promptly returned them to their Transfiguration homework, subject dropped.

Draco had never forgotten those words, however. They’d rung in his head over the summer after he’d taken the Mark, an echo of regret in the darker corners of his mind.

Now, they screamed in chorus through his brain…and through his greedy body.

Buttons flew in every direction as he yanked her shirt open now, pulling it from its tuck, and tore it apart. Her muttered censure made him grin. “You know you love this as much as I do,” he told her, wrenching her bra cups down and freeing one of his favourite parts of her anatomy to his bold gaze. She was perfectly formed, as far as he was concerned; well-rounded breasts that fit nicely into his palms, high and tight nipples that were big and cherry red, and begged for him to play with them. He pinched them now with just the right amount of pressure to elicit another gasp from those sweet, pink lips of hers.

Leaning his mouth to her ear, he murmured very succinctly, “I’m going to fuck you right here, on this desk, Granger.” He stroked her nipples again, making her moan and tremble against him. “And you’re going to come for me again, aren’t you? Again and again. Just like always.”

Her whimpers and the doubts so clearly etched upon her lovely features were soon wiped away as he teased her buds with first his fingers, then his tongue and teeth. He licked, suckled, caressed and massaged, _worshipped_ her breasts, knowing by now just how wet she could become from his teasing and fondling of them.

“So beautiful,” he growled as he dragged the length of his tongue over one taut, begging nipple and then latched on, sucking hard. Granger threw her head back and moaned so loudly that, had he not already taken the precaution of Silencing the room, he’d fear discovery. They were, after all, in an empty classroom on the third floor in the middle of the lunch period, and not in the privacy of their shared dormitory at night, as usual. He let go of his mouth’s hold on her abruptly and, grabbing hold of a hunk of her hair, pulled her face back so their lips could meet. “You’re mine to fuck whenever I want, aren’t you? My little addiction.”

She whimpered and closed her eyes, but her pink tongue darted out to whet her lower lip, preparing it for his kiss. He took that as her ascent, and carried on with the plan of seducing her until she realised that refusing his advances only made him want her all the more.

In such a short time, Hermione Granger had become Draco’s bad habit…one he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be freed of, and one he intuitively knew would ruin him for anyone else.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

It was utter madness! It had to stop!

Closing the Head Boy’s bedroom door behind her after another night of wild sex, Hermione dragged herself downstairs to the Head dorm’s mini kitchenette, hair disheveled and clothes hastily thrown on, needing something stronger than her usual breakfast tea to keep her awake this morning. Draco had spent the night shagging her into exhaustion, _again_ , and the lack of sleep from this, and many other similar nights, had finally caught up to her.

Falling so freely and wantonly into his arms was, she wryly thought, becoming a savagely bad habit.

“Your shirt is on inside-out.”

Hermione froze with her hand half-way to the cupboard to grab her favourite Gryffindor mug, her heart climbing into her throat.

“It seems, for once, the rumours are true, as well. I had to see it to believe it, but…there you are, Granger, thoroughly well-shagged.”

She turned to find Draco’s best friend, Theodore Nott, sitting on the sofa across the way with his legs crossed at the knee, elegant hands folded in his lap. Unflappable, inscrutable, he appeared much like a snake right then, with his narrowed gaze acutely focussed upon her. _Like he’s preparing to strike,_ she thought.

That was just his usual expression, though, she knew. At relatively equal academic standing in terms of grades, he’d been assigned her partner in various classes many times over the years, and as such, they’d developed a friendly rapport when alone that belied the long-standing Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry and entirely ignored the issues of their differing blood status at the same time. In short, they were friends when no one else was looking, and so she was well-aware by now of his moods.

Right now, for instance, it would seem he was in a teasing mood, and she was this morning’s target.

Well, she wasn’t about to take such cheekiness from anyone, especially as she was still suffering the ill-effects of last night’s debauchery… “Unbelievable! You chose _now_ to make good on the open invite to come into the Head’s tower?” she asked, archly. “Two weeks before graduation, when Draco and I have been on you most of the year to do so—and when I wasn’t expecting company, I might add—you just show up without bothering to knock?”

He broke, losing his mask of impassiveness and instead tossing her a razor-sharp grin. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “Obviously,” he said.

Rascal. The man was as bad as her roommate.

“So, how _did_ you get in?” she demanded, turning back to the cupboard to take down her mug, as well as Draco’s Slytherin cup and a plain white guest mug for Nott. He’d be staying for tea, she assumed, and it would be rude to drink it in front of him without inviting him to join in anyway. “I don’t recall you ever asking for the password.”

Nott shrugged, as casual as you like. “Have you not voluntarily given you best friends the password, in case of emergency? Otherwise, how else would they be able to gain entrance and gallantly rush to your aid against‒” He glanced up the stairs towards Draco’s room and then back at her, his meaning plain. “‒possible danger?”

Huffing, Hermione waved him off, too tired to play today. “Draco’s no threat to me, and you know it. He’s more likely to kiss me than kill me.”

“Yes, so it seems.” With a grace that belied such long, gangly limbs, Nott stood and made his way over to her. He moved with a feline fluidity that made her heart secretly pound in her chest. “What an interesting development.”

Okay, yes, she could admit it: she was attracted to Theodore Nott, despite the fact he wasn’t really her type. More so now that she understood what women and men did in bed together, and she could envision him and her doing such things together. The thought of Theo’s long fingers teasing her breasts and those roguish blue eyes looking up at her and dancing with lust from between her legs had her going tight in places low and already quite sore.

Hastily, she turned aside to begin making the tea.

It was a terrible quandary to have feelings for Draco and Theo both, as they were best friends…and both Slytherins, and therefore not entirely trustworthy, by their own individual admissions. It also said something terrible about her inconsistency and her common sense when it came to romantic and sexual matters that she would want either of them. Why couldn’t she have settled on a more ‘normal’ or ‘acceptable’ male, like Harry or Ron? Hell, even Neville would have been better, because he, at least, would remain faithful and offer her some sort of earnest commitment, eventually.

Not that she was looking for marriage right away, definitely not. She couldn’t even possibly consider such a thing until her career at the Ministry, which she intended upon having at any cost, was well-settled and she was independent enough to pay for her own wedding, if there was to be one.

The problem was she didn’t want Harry or Ron or Neville. She wanted Draco…and Theo.

“What kind of tea would you like?” she asked her guest as she set the kettle on the hot stone and cast a boiling charm on it, wandlessly. “We have a breakfast blend, chamomile, Earl Grey, herbal peach, ummm…” She hurriedly opened the cupboard and did a quick inventory. “We also have a green tea and Prince of Wales.”

His body was suddenly behind hers, near enough that she could feel the heat pouring off him. His breath tickled the lee of her throat.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” he said in a low murmur near in her ear. “Everything you’re having, in fact, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Goose flesh appeared on her arms. She dropped them to the counter, gripping its edge. “What are you doing?”

His hand appeared in her peripheral vision, and those long, beautiful fingers of his rested atop hers. “Making my intentions known,” he admitted. “I’m finding jealousy a most uncomfortable emotion, you see.”

“J-jealousy?” Her heart hammered away in her throat, and she swallowed several times to push down the knot that had taken up residence there.

Theo’s head bent towards her ear and he placed his lips near it, whispering his secrets to her. “My Slytherin sensibilities have kept me from acting upon what I’ve wanted with you for years. Is it too late, though? I presume Draco was the first to have your body, but does he exclusively own your heart, too, Hermione? Is there room enough in there for me, too?” He pressed a small kiss to her earlobe. “Have I been too patient, too reserved? Have I lost my chance to win you as well?”

Shivering against him, Hermione’s mind whirled with the implications of Theo’s confession. He wanted her, was quite possibly in love with her as well, if he was to be believed. It seemed he’d felt these things for a while, too, but had been too fearful of crossing lines with her. Now that he knew about her and Draco, though, the gloves had come off.

What should she do?

Technically, she wasn’t dating Draco. In fact, he’d never asked her to be anything more than available to him. He never discussed his feelings about her or for her, never hinted that there would be anything more than what they did together in private. She hadn’t a clue as to how he truly thought about her. Furthermore, his history of dating also made it clear that he wasn’t the faithful type; he’d never carried on with a girl for more than a week or two before dropping them flat.

And yet, she and Draco had been involved for almost two months now…

Then, there was Theo, making it clear what he wanted from her, but not what he was offering, either, aside from sex.

Theo stroked a hand up her arm. “Well, Hermione? Tell me your thoughts. I value them.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn’t sure what Draco’s intentions were in regards to their relationship, but she wasn’t the type to cheat once she was involved with someone, regardless.

“How sweet. Helping with the domestic chores now, Theo?”

Her lover lounged against the wall separating the kitchenette with the main living area, arms and ankles crossed, a dark expression marring his handsome features. Clearly, he’d come in at some point and heard Theo’s commentary, and hadn’t liked it.

Theo stepped back from her, but gave no indication that he was, in the least bit, feeling guilty over being caught admitting his affections for Hermione. Instead, he appeared entirely unfazed, as calm and controlled as usual. “Not at all,” he said, facing his friend. “Hermione was just making me some tea.”

Draco narrowed his gaze. “And you’re here, why?”

“To speak with your charming new lover.”

Silvery eyes flashed with annoyance.

Dare she even think that could have been jealousy as well? No, it couldn’t be. Possessiveness, perhaps. Draco was terribly spoilt, having been an only child, and he’d admitted once to her that he disliked sharing anything he considered ‘his’. That had to be all it was, because he’d never once given any indication that he actually liked her for anything other than sex.

After a long pause, Draco finally turned to her. “Do you want to speak with him?”

Hermione stared hard at him, reading between the lines. He must have heard Theo’s offer and was testing her interest in him. She decided to turn things around on him.

“Would you have a problem with it, if I did?”

He glared at her in sullen silence. Finally, he shrugged and turned away.

“Do what you want, Granger. You always do.”

She chased after him, as he headed back towards his bedroom. “Why can’t you just answer the question?” she demanded, irritated with the constant dodge and weave from him. Her lover never explicitly stated what he wanted from her, except in the heat of the moment, she noticed.

Draco got to his door and paused with his hand on the knob, and Hermione got the impression that he wanted to impart something important to her. Her heart started beating triple fast under her ribs.

In the end, he chickened out, falling back on his old habits. “It doesn’t really matter what I want,” he admitted in a soft, regretful voice, his broad shoulders sagging with what seemed to be defeat. “It never has.”

With that, he opened the door, entered his room, and shut it behind him…shutting out her and any discussion of a relationship with him, too.

Slowly, she went back into the kitchenette, considering his words carefully. “Do you know what he meant by that?” she asked Theo, hoping as Draco’s best friend and a fellow Slytherin, he would be able to interpret meaning for her in her lover’s words.

Theo glanced from Draco’s closed bedroom door to her and back again. He was frowning with open concern, but it wasn’t until after he’d left some minutes later that she noticed he hadn’t answered her question.

What was it with Slytherins and their bad habit of dodging questions?!?

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Draco opened the middle drawer of his desk and once more took out his father’s letter. His hand shook with resentment as he flipped it over and ran his finger over the broken wax seal, tracing the coat of arms that represented his house, and the hateful Latin phrase embedded upon the scroll work below:

_**Sanctimonia Vincent Semper** _

Purity will always conquer.

With a choked sob, he understood in that moment how true such a statement was, at least in regards to his life.

Opening the envelope, he withdrew the letter that had stolen his freedom and had effectively chained him to a duty he knew he would despise and resent for the rest of his life. Re-reading it, the sinking feeling in his chest returned, causing him to rub over the spot in an attempt to quell the now-familiar ache.

 

_**My Son,** _

  
_**I am writing to inform you that after a long and somewhat tedious set of negotiations with Lord Greengrass, we have finally secured an acceptable match for you with his lovely daughter, Miss Daphne Greengrass, a classmate of yours in Slytherin House.** _

  
_**Her dowry brings with it two well-maintained estates in Britain and four on the continent, as well as ʛ2 million.** _

  
_**After greater deliberation, a courtship of six months was considered an acceptable length of time to assure a marriage in winter, in keeping with pure-blood custom. We realise this provides only a short window in which to familiarize yourself with your bride-to-be, however a longer engagement was deemed by all parties to be unacceptable, as it might open the door to ugly gossip that no one wants.** _

  
_**Draco, understand that your mother and I are most pleased with the betrothal, as it will carry forward the family traditions of purity and magical strength that have made the name ‘Malfoy’ powerful for over a thousand years. We know you will feel similarly to this decision once you have taken time to consider your duty.** _

  
_**With affection,** _

  
_**Your Father** _

 

Daphne already knew, of course, and was no doubt thrilled with the idea that she’d been sold off to him like chattel, knowing a lifetime of furs and diamonds and Champagne were the trade-off. By tonight, maybe tomorrow, the news would be all over the castle that she was to be the next Lady Malfoy…and Granger would drop him in a heartbeat once the gossip reached her ears. Becoming a mistress would never be a compromise she’d make, especially not with political aspirations for her future.

Would he be the only one nursing a broken heart then, or would Hermione feel his loss as keenly as he was anticipating hers now?

He’d assumed their feelings had gone a parallel course since they’d begun flirting last October, and by the time he’d taken her to his bed nearly two months ago, he was sure she’d felt similarly. That little scene with Theo in the kitchenette, however, now had him doubting.

Before the war, he and Theo had together shared the same bed with Pansy Parkinson and Tracey Davis a few times, and once with Romilda Vane too, but never had Theo shown an interest in any of the three witches beyond the sex. Now, he was ringing Hermione’s doorbell and asking for entrance in a manner that suggested a permanent residence...and she hadn’t said, ‘no’. She hadn’t stopped Nott from touching her, hadn’t seemed indignant that another man had laid hands upon her, and had definitely seemed indecisive in answering Theo’s question, which Draco had heard while eavesdropping from the doorway.

Did she love him, as he’d come to love her?

He glanced at the letter in his hand. Did it matter anymore, even if she did? His fate was sealed. At the end of the day, there could be no future for them, no matter how they’d felt for each other.

If he was noble, like her idiotic Gryffindor friends, he’d give her up to Theo. His best friend was a good man—a better man than him, in fact, for at least Theo had no idea of Draco’s feelings for Hermione Granger until the rumours had started flying around about them, whereas Draco had known Theo had been half in love with the Head Girl for years. That Theo might, at any minute, decide to finally make his move and ask Granger to Madam Puddifoot’s had been, in all honesty, the catalyst that had caused Draco to seduce her at long last. He’d wanted her, and he’d taken her…without any care or thought as to what he was going to do with her once his future had been arranged for him.

Truthfully, he’d expected his parents to have waited a few years, to allow him time to sow his oats, as his grandfather had done with Lucius. It seemed the Black family tradition of marrying young had taken precedent in his case, however. His mother had been married right out of Hogwarts to his father, who had been graduated for a few years at that point, and so it seemed Draco was to be served on that same altar to the Greengrass chit.

Walking away from Granger, letting her find some happiness with Theo, who had no immediate family left to satisfy now that both his mother and father were dead, would be the right thing to do.

Crumpling the letter in his hand, he squeezed it tightly and then threw it against the wall, a snarl of impotent rage leaving his throat.

Later, after Theo left the Heads’ tower, Draco dragged Granger back to his room and he fucked her harder than had been his regular habit…so hard, he nearly broke the bed, in fact. Then he held her close, knowing it would be the last time.


	4. Chapter 4

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

**_Two weeks later_  
.~.~.~.~.~.~**

She’d made it through the graduation ceremony without once looking Draco’s way. She’d kept her chin up and her righteous anger within reach to stave off the tears that desperately wanted to appear once more.

Now, though, Hermione couldn’t help but seek him out in the crowd of families, looking for that familiar shade of blond that was a Malfoy trademark.

 _Just once more look, then never again,_ she promised herself.

It had been torture living with Draco these final two weeks after the ending of their…whatever it had been, and sitting her N.E.W.T.s had been an exercise in willpower. Thankfully, she’d done what she’d set out to do in earning an ‘O’ in every subject, but it had taken her shutting Draco from her mind, from her life entirely to do it.

‒A nearly impossible thing to do, as he attempted to hold onto her with a desperation that broke her heart in two.

_“You’re punishing me for living up to my responsibilities, Granger, is that it?”_

_“A thousand years of Malfoy tradition rests on my shoulders. I don’t have the luxury of saying, ‘no’, no matter how much I want to!”_

_“You want me to beg? Fine. Fuck it. I’ll be a bloody Hufflepuff, if that’s what you want. Here, look! I’m on my knees at your feet, asking you not to walk away. I want to be with you. We can work something out.”_

They’d fought for a week over it. He’d hovered like a dark cloud in her sky, while she’d limped around like a wounded bird. In the end, nothing would be changed. He wouldn’t stand up to his parents or shirk his familial duty, and she couldn’t accept being second best in his world. So, she had told him ‘no’ and walked away.

It had been sheer stubbornness that had kept her going after that, that and the support of her closest friends. And then there had been Theo, too, with his gentle insistence that she hold her head up high and refuse to appear so weak before the likes of vicious, snickering classmates or nosy reporters, even if inside she was slowly dying…

She inched past bodies, moving slowly, but steadily like a mudfish through the crowd of graduates and their proud family members. Unfortunately, she was continually stopped by well-wishers who wanted to shake her hand and ask her plans for post-Hogwarts life. The delays were frustrating, as she felt the time slipping away and knew as the mob began to thin that it was quite likely that Draco and his family had already left for home, skipping the post-graduation refreshments in the tent she and the Prefects had set up in advance on the lawn by the shoreline. By the time she made it to the edge of the group, she was feeling a bit frazzled by all the socializing and nervous that she’d missed her chance.

Perhaps it would have been better if she had, for she finally caught a glimpse of her ex-lover through the crowd, standing to the side with his parents…and his fiancée, whose dainty left hand he was right then slipping an official engagement ring upon.

Hermione hadn’t thought she could hurt any worse. Clearly, she’d been wrong.

She turned her head away from the sight, instead searching the crowd for someone, anyone to distract her from this terrible pain. Maybe Harry and Ron…

Despite the fact they hadn’t returned to Hogwarts to finish their education, her two best friend were both outside with the rest of the Weasley clan, having come to show support for Ginny and Luna, their respective girlfriends, who had graduated along with the eighth years, as well as for Hermione and the rest of their friends. Her two boys were, right then, engrossed in discussing some exciting, shared story with their group—probably something having to do with their own recent graduation from Auror Academy. They didn’t seem to notice anything else around them as they animatedly carried on a tale that included a lot of excited hand gestures and whooping laughter.

They were slipping away from her, too, she sadly thought. Their lives had gone off in a direction that was quickly parting from hers, their paths traversing smoother, predictable ground rather than the rocky course she’d chosen. The closeness they’d once shared had been damped dramatically by the fizzling out of her and Ron’s relationship last October.

No, she could not ask them for help. They wouldn’t understand, anyway, as she’d kept her relationship with Draco a secret from them all.

Her eyes kept roving…

Across the tent pavilion, she spied Theo’s tall, lanky form over the shorter heads of most of the other guests. His mousy-brown hair had been tousled by the warm summer breeze, she noted, and his formal tie was already loosened, with the top buttons of his Oxford shirt gaping open to expose the long line of his throat. He had his hands shoved into his trouser pockets while standing at a lazy slouch, and was speaking in the corner with that rat-fink skirt-chaser, Blaise Zabini.

To many of the girls in her age group, Theo wasn’t considered a catch. After his father’s death and the Ministry had seized most of his family’s wealth for war reparations, leaving him barely enough to be seated at the same table as the Malfoys or the Zabinis, he’d pretty much lost whatever political and economic clout the Nott family name had carried. Coupled with that fact were his unconventional looks; he was rather saturnine in face, and had yet to fill into his long limbs and stature. He was more colt, less stallion, and his pasture right then was less grass, more thistle. As a result, he tended to be passed over for more gregarious, customarily attractive, and richer prospects by her female acquaintances.

However, upon a closer look, Hermione noted that there was something about Theo, a special kind of _je ne sai quoi_ that easily drew one’s eye and held it. The small dimple in his cheek as he gave a rare smile certainly held her attention right then as she silently willed him to notice her back…

As if intuitively sensing her focus upon him across the distance, Theo abruptly turned and looked in her direction, his brief joviality replaced by one of concern. Their eyes met, and in that one glance, she knew he’d picked up on her suffering and would answer her silent plea for support.

He abruptly broke off from his discussion with his housemate, shaking the man’s hand in goodbye and wishing him luck. Something passed between their palms as they came together for the clasp, but Hermione was too caught up in her misery to really pay it much attention, and anyway, it was none of her business. Then, her friend crossed the distance and appeared at her side with a gentle smile of encouragement for her.

Obviously, he’d spied Draco and his fiancée nearby and deduced they were the cause of Hermione’s near panic, for he took her hand and began drawing her towards the opposite end of the tent. “Come away, my Granger,” he said, guiding her from the scene.

Numbly, she followed behind him, aware of how warm his hand felt against her cold fingers.

“Here,” he said, leading her to the table that had been laid out with Champagne glasses. He held one up for her. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

The bubbles tickled her nose, and the crisp, sharp flavour of the wine snapped her from her shock. She glanced up at Theo’s tall, lean frame over the edge of the glass. He appeared impassive, but in the depths of his blue gaze, she saw how disturbed he was over her upset.

“Thank you,” she whispered and took another sip. “You’re right—it is quite a lovely taste. Most distracting.”

Theo gave her a wan smile. “I aim to please.”

His words brought her head up and riveted her attention, reminding her of the conversation they’d had in her tiny kitchenette two weeks earlier. “Do you really?” she asked. A further thought occurred to her then, and although it was a selfish thought and clearly one having to do with a rebound, she couldn’t stop herself from pushing at it, prodding it until it was satisfied. “Just how far would that ‘pleasing’ extend?”

Her companion seemed surprised by her bold question at first, but then his expression settled into sweet resignation. “However far you need, my love. I have…remedies…if you need to feel good for a little while.” He covertly opened a pocket on the inside of his robes and revealed two hand-rolled blunts.

“Not here,” she told him, attempting to close his jacket back up, so he wouldn’t be caught peddling illicit weed to her.

She’d known of his marijuana habit all year and not reported it to the staff, primarily because he’d said it was the only thing that had allowed him to deal with his nightmares from the war. It calmed him, relaxed him at night before bed, and she had to admit, it seemed to have worked well for him. He suffered no tremors, no anxiety, and he was one of the few in her acquaintance who could talk about the war without flinching. To date, she’d been too chicken to try such a remedy for her own set of night terrors and for the other post-war PTSD moments she suffered, including an on-again, off-again fight with depression, an increasing OCD when it came to washing her hands, and the occasional panic attacks she sometimes suffered after hearing sharp, sudden noises. However, the whole falling in love and falling out with Draco had added its own mountain of pain to her life, and after doing a little research on marijuana, she was beginning to think its medicinal properties were vastly undervalued and its bad reputation was mostly propaganda begun by the drug’s major competition than anything else. Everything she’d read, in fact, had clocked it as being more helpful than harmful, and so she’d been mulling over trying it once, post-graduation.

Just not here, or now.

Theo gave her an amused smile and whispered in her ear. “We could go back to my place, then. I live alone, you know. Not even a house-elf. It’ll be a safe place for you to try it, if you want.”

She leaned her mouth towards his ear and whispered back, “Actually, I was thinking of a different kind of ‘pleasing’ activity.”

Theo seemed surprised by her rather bold offer, but then his gaze filled with heat and his lids lowered with interest. He moved his body into hers, until they were flush.

Hermione’s heart began to pound.

“You know, for you, I could be equally as distracting as Champagne,” he said, teasing her with his sultry, smooth voice. His arm wrapped around her waist in a possessive manoeuver that left no question that he’d caught on to her meaning. “And I know I’m far more pleasing than cannabis…although being high does make the sex more intense. You up to testing out either theory, maybe both?”

Feeling brazen and desperately in need of a distraction from her heartache, Hermione leaned into him. “Yes, let’s find out.”

She sent her parents off with a promise of dinner somewhere posh the next evening to celebrate, said goodbyes to Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and the Weasleys with a promise to visit them the following Sunday for their weekly dinner, shook Minerva’s hand and hugged Hagrid, said goodbye to several other friends and staff members, and then she allowed Theo to take her to his home.

She got very high that night, and in his bed, she found she was _very_ pleased.

Just before dawn and exhaustion took hold, she made a promise to herself: she would stop being so hurt by things that were entirely out of her control. Life was too short to be weighed down by so much pain and misery, and there was a whole world out there still waiting to be healed. So, she would let go of some of her really bad habits—the ones that kept her in a state of unhappiness—and she would try out some new ones instead.

She would be what she’d been sorted to be: brave.


	5. Chapter 5

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~  
_Ten years later…_  
~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

“Draco, I have asked you before not to bring your spirits to this table,” his mother primly reminded him as she frowned at the glass of Firewhisky in his hand. “Furthermore, drinking at this time of the morning is a foul habit I wish you would break.”

Feeling rebellious, Draco took a sip before responding.

“She’s gone.”

That got both of his parent’s full attention. They glanced sharply up and over at him from their places at the small breakfast table, pity for him lighting their eyes over the loss of his marriage.

Interestingly enough, neither of them seemed shocked by the news, though. How could they be, for it was no secret to anyone in their circle that last Christmas, Daphne had fallen arse-over-kettle in love with Blaise Zabini…and with his dreams of making a fashion model out of her in Milan.

Honestly, Draco had anticipated a much quicker jilting, especially after his wife’s scandalous behaviour at the Ministry’s New Year’s gala last year, when she and Draco’s former housemate had been caught in a compromising position in the second floor women’s loo. That Daphne had waited nearly a year to get her interests aligned before making the big jump to divorce Draco had to have been at Zabini’s behest, he figured, for if there was one thing he knew about the woman who had shared his bed for some of the last decade, it was that patience was never her strong suit. And if there was one thing he knew about Blaise Zabini, it was that the man was as much a Lady Killer as his mother was a Black Widow. Biding his time to get his hands on Daphne’s money had obviously been his aim all along.

Regardless, his marriage was done now, and he no longer owed a sickle to that two-timing slag he’d married thanks to the fine print included in their prenuptial agreement, and he was vastly relieved for that fact. Arriving home this morning to find Daphne’s walk-in wardrobe emptied and the signed divorce decree placed atop his work desk had been a terrible weight off his shoulders. For the first time since his final year at Hogwarts, he was able to breathe again.

Of course, Blaise would be incensed to learn his carefully cultivated mistress would only be coming to him with the miniscule amount of Galleons currently in her vault, but that wasn’t Draco’s problem. Maybe, if the man was really desperate, he could sell the racks of clothes and the few jewellery sets Daphne had seen fit to take from the house, but Draco was sure even that amount would hardly be enough to keep Zabini in the style in which he was accustomed as a bachelor of the leisure class…much less to pay for his well-known drug habit.

Whatever. Too bad, so sad.

“At least she’d had the decency and the rare foresight not to become pregnant during the marriage,” his father chimed in, returning to his reading of the morning _Daily Prophet_ as Draco took the seat across from him and the house-elf appeared to pour his requisite coffee and juice. “You’re spared that heartbreak, at least.”

Yes, his father was correct. No matter how Draco ached for a child of his own, he knew he’d dodged a hex in not creating one with Daphne, who he had never loved and who wasn’t at all good mothering material.

“I, for one, _am_ disappointed,” his mother added to the conversation at last, returning to cutting up her meal into tiny, bite-sized portions. “Not in you, of course, my Dragon, but in that wanton witch! Falling for an odious rake like, Zabini. Really! I’d expected better from one of her…breed.”

Draco snorted, then chuckled, and then he banged his hand on the table, falling into gales of laughter. The silverware chimed as it bounced around, and the freshly poured juice sloshed around in his glass. “She wasn’t one of your prized Crups, mother,” he finally managed to say, wiping the tears of hilarity from his eyes. “Daphne was‒”

“A poor choice for your wife,” his mother admitted, in a rare show of regret. “That fault rests upon my shoulders, I’m afraid, as I was too hasty to see you properly settled into a well-considered family after all the unhappiness you’d endured, Draco. I pushed your father into making the match with Lord Greengrass, and for that, I apologise. My only excuse is that I had hoped their political connections could help repair our family’s damaged reputation, so you might be in a better position to pursue whatever dreams you may have had for your future.”

He reached across the table and laid his hand over his mother’s smaller one. Her skin was paper thin now that she was older, and the blue veins underneath could clearly be seen. In another few years, he knew, there would be wrinkling and perhaps even those ugly brown spots that older women always tended to get.

The fact was, she was aging before his eyes, and that thought not only made Draco sad, but also brought home how his own life was passing just as quickly…and that it was time to make some changes before it was too late.

“It was my choice to go through with the marriage, Mother, Father,” he reminded them. “And my marriage was what I made of it. It’s always been my choice.”

He needed to make that point clear to both of his parents, so they understood that he was his own man—had been since he’d stood before the Wizengamot alone at eighteen and told a room full of strangers his truth, allowing their judgment to fall upon his head. He needed Lucius and Narcissa to accept that it was his decision where his life’s path was to lead from here on out…which included his desire to leave their home for good. He’d done his part for family and country; his youth and young adulthood had been spent in the pursuit of such duty. Now, it was time for him to find his own way.

“Daphne’s leaving and the divorce have come at a rather fortuitous time, actually” he said, clearing his throat and sitting back in his chair. His parents set aside their distractions and looked over at him once more, this time with polite anticipation upon their faces, clearly sensing the change in his mood. “You should know, a month ago, I applied for a position as an _avoué_ for the ICW’s Court of Justice in France.”

His mother blinked in surprise at the news, while his father merely frowned at it. Draco marshalled on.

“Their offer letter arrived yesterday, and I find the terms quite agreeable,” he explained. “I’m to leave for Paris in a fortnight. I’ll be living there, permanently.”

It took more than an hour and a litany of promises to write often and come home on holidays to calm down his mother’s hysterics.

His father had been harder to win over. The man had spent the whole day locked in his study after Draco’s announcement, ignoring everyone. After dinner that night, however, Draco had joined Lucius out on the back balcony for a cheroot and a glass of Firewhisky to talk finances and long-term plans. There was, of course, the expected conversation that a Malfoy heir was necessary at some point to secure the family’s vast fortune, but it was followed up by Draco’s rather persuasive and firm reminder that blood purity was no longer on the table when considering the perfect mother for his child. “Been there, done that, see where it got us,” was his best argument in defence, and he made sure to hammer home how unhappy he’d been all his life as a result of the old ideals.

In the end, his father relented with a tired sigh, accepting that his son was an adult with his own life to lead, and that the world had moved on from ancient rituals and customs. “All I want is a grandchild who will remember me and whom I can teach to sit a broom,” he’d said, snuffing out his cigar and magicking it away. “You’d never had the chance to meet either of my parents before their deaths, Draco, which is a pity. I want the chance to know your children, at least.”

“I’ll do my best,” was all he would promise on that front, however.

Lucius, again, sighed at his son’s stubbornness. He downed the last of his drink and then turned to go back inside to retire for the night. At the door, he paused, however, and threw over his shoulder a parting demand.

“No Squibs.”

With that, Draco had won his autonomy. The next day, utilizing the vault of gold he’d personally inherited from his grandmother, Madaline Malfoy, as well as the stacks of Galleons he’d built up on his own over the years from non-stop work as a defense barrister in the Wizengamot, Draco began to plan his new future.

First stop: Paris.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

“You’re absolutely positive you want to do this?” Hermione asked her fiancé, worried that some of her more unhealthy habits—specifically her penchant for making decisions to please others to her own detriment at times—might actually have rubbed off on him over the years.

Selling Nott Manor to move into something a little more modern, a little less menacing, and _a lot_ further away had been a huge step in her and Theo’s relationship, and Hermione was nervous that her lover might be leaping before he looked, just to make her happy. As her Dom in the bedroom, he was always willing to go to the extreme to please her, lavishing her with love and attention the likes of which she’d only ever thought possible in fictitious romance novels, but this…this wasn’t about sex, and it was a big step in their lives together.

Theo turned to her, flashing his famous his knicker-melting smile. “Well, before the new owners take possession, I should point out that there is still the attic and the wine cellar that we’ve never properly christened…”

She considered his offer for all of two seconds, her body already tingling with the possibilities. “Which one has the least amount of spiders?”

“Wine cellar, definitely. Mippy keeps it spotless, and even turns the bottles.”

Two hours later, the wine cellar had been checked off their list.

Later that afternoon, so had the attic, despite the ‘creepy crawlies’.

As the hallway clock chimed the four o’clock hour now, they lounged together in the master suite’s bed, limp and very much sated. As he took a heavy drag on his spliff with one hand, Theo’s fingers lazily swept over Hermione’s lower abdomen with his other hand, as if signaling his wish to put a baby in her belly. Secretly, a part of Hermione wanted that, too. However, she had enough to worry about right then with her work promotion forcing them to move to France, and with Theo’s sudden and inexplicable desire to open a tea and spice shop on the Rue di Rivoli’s wizarding section—all of which would dip precariously into their savings, hence the reason he was selling his family’s primary estate in Britain.

As he passed the blunt to her and she took a hit, Hermione stared up at the ceiling of the room where they’d first made love a decade before. She exhaled, enjoying the buzz she was riding, her body thrumming with renewed sexual interest.

“I’m going to miss this room,” she admitted.

“I fucked you here our first time,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Remember that night?”

She passed the spliff to him and he finished it off, the sweet scent filling the air, calming her nerves and clouding her sight until the smoke dissipated. “How could I forget? You made me come half a dozen times. You shagged me until I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, could only sleep it all off.”

Theo stubbed out the remnant of their smoke in an ashtray by the bed, and then rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. He reached out and played with her curly hair, which was in wild disarray across her pillow. “You were sad that day, too, like today.”

How had he known? He could read her so easily now…

“For a different reason altogether, though,” she reminded him.

“You mean Draco.”

Hermione flinched. It was habitual, uncontrollable…painful, like a stitch torn open from too much movement, allowing a fresh well of blood to the surface. It was always this way whenever she heard her first lover’s name or saw his picture in the papers. When she was nineteen, Draco had touched her in a way that could never be undone. He’d unlocked her every childhood secret and had ruined her on levels her fiancé could never understand.

She loved Theodore Nott with all her heart, but a part of her soul would always belong to Draco Malfoy, too, she feared.

Fortunately, from his own mouth, Theo was a permanent fixture in her life until she’d decided otherwise, and so their relationship was based upon a kind of love and trust she was sure few other people had ever felt or could even understand. He knew of her feelings for Draco and never once resented them. In fact, there were times she was almost sure he actually _understood_ them too, having been Draco’s best friend for years before their split.

Theo’s herb-scented fingertips touched her lips in a soft caress. “You’re never getting over him, are you?”

Hermione sighed. “I’m here with _you_ , Theo. I chose _you_. I love _you_.”

Theo gave her a small, sad smile. “Dodged like a Slytherin, love. At least I’ve rubbed off on you.”

She rolled to face him and pressed their bodies together, throwing an arm over his waist. “I’d love for you to do a little bit more rubbing before the night’s done.”

He did, making love to her with exquisite tenderness. The high they were both feeling only added to the experience, and when she orgasmed, Hermione cried out for Theo to be right there with her, not for Draco Malfoy.

For days afterward, however, her dreams were plagued with visions of her first lover and of all the sinful things they’d done in the short two months they’d had together so long ago. Memories of hot, sweaty liaisons in hidden nooks and dormitory beds collided with wicked fantasies freed from the darker recesses of her imagination, and suddenly Hermione was starring in a _ménage à trois_ , sandwiched in between Draco and Theo.

Night after night, she experienced every possible scenario involving the only two men in her sexual history taking their pleasure from her and giving it back to her ten-fold.

When she’d confided in Ginny about the secrets of her past and the tormenting thoughts of her present, her friend had called Hermione’s dreams ‘wishful thinking’ and laughed them off, but Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that those haunting visions that came to her at night were, somehow, a prelude to the next chapter of her life.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Recently, it had become something of a bad habit for Draco to hit the ‘snooze’ on his wand for just five more minutes of sleep in the mornings. Unfortunately, that small window of extra lateness was translating into a fifteen minute delay in the lobby for the elevator line.

As a result, for the third day in a row, Draco was late for work.

As he hurried down the hall, woolen robes flapping behind him, his polished dragonhide shoes clacking loudly across the marble flooring of the administrative building, he cursed his bad luck. Five months in, and nearing the end of his first contentious case involving the closing of Nurmengard prison in Germany and the transfer of the remaining prisoners to Azkaban, Draco was too close to winning and making a name for himself to be set back by something as insignificant as missing the last bell.

His pace quickened as he came in sight of the courtroom door and the guard beginning to close it. “Hold,” he called out, closing those last few feet in a short sprint. As he crossed the barrier into the courtroom, just beating his appointment time by a second or two, he paused a moment more in the doorway to straighten his robes.

“Thank you,” he offered to the guard, knowing it would behoove him to make good politics with the door sentinel. The Auror-cum-court security officer looked at him in silent censure, but Draco merely gave him a polite smile before proceeding to his pre-assigned seat.

Six and a half hours later, he’d walked out that same courtroom with a spring in his step and hearty congratulations from the British ambassador, who had championed Draco’s cause to allow him this audience in the first place. “Well done, my boy,” the man said, firmly shaking his hand. “Capital work! I can just hear the Galleons changing hands now.”

‒Which had been the entire point of arguing to close Nuremgard and moving the remaining prisoners to Azkaban’s clutches: to move the budget for those prisoners to the post-war British Ministry’s coffers. In some ways, Draco thought, Shacklebolt’s reign was even more corrupt than Voldemort’s had been. At least the Dark Lord had been open about his greed and nefarious intentions. The “new” Ministry was all polite smiles with faux compassion and deep pockets.

Cynical, yes, but no less true.

Still, it was work and a chance for Draco to appear to be playing ball, to wipe away the tarnish to his family’s name that the war and his divorce had wrought, to find some sort of redemption outside the bottom of a whisky bottle.

“A drink is in order,” the Ambassador insisted, then leaned in and murmured in a softer tone, “Perhaps more than one, eh?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon getting sauced in the Ambassador’s office, talking politics. Mostly, Draco listened while the Ambassador whinged on about petty grievances over matters of state and about his unfortunate personal circumstances regarding his mistress.

“Don’t ever let a woman that close to your heart, m’boy,” the old man wheezed, “or your purse strings, for that matter. Rob you blind, they will!” He blinked in an attempt to clear his vision, in the manner that most truly drunk people employ when they have an important thought and feel the need to share it. “You were married ‘till recently, they say. Did she…go to the dogs?”

Draco chuckled. “To Milan, sir.” He glanced into his half-empty glass, debating the wisdom of finishing it off. He had a solid buzz going, but any more and he’d be heading into no-go territory… “Straight into the arms of an old classmate I didn’t much care for.”

The ambassador reeled backwards. “Merlin, an Italian? Bad bit of luck, for you, m’boy. Latin lovers, and all that. She’s gone for good, I’m afraid.” He let out a rather rude belch, and then laughed. “Well, at least it wasn’t your best friend she ran off with. Hell of a thing to get over, that. Take it from me.”

The truth of that sentiment hit Draco square between the eyes, killing his good mood, sinking him straight into the doldrums.

Oh, he knew all about best friends taking up with ex-girlfriends, alright. He’d watched from the sidelines, helplessly, as Theo had slid easily into the empty space he’d left at Granger’s side a decade ago.

Not that he could find it in him to resent his childhood best friend for having done so, though. If anyone could have made Hermione happy, Draco knew it was Theo, with his easy-going manner and his willingness to bend. Better him than Weasley or Potter, or any other of those Order ponces she’d hung with back then. Besides, Theo was a good man. He’d deserved some happiness, too.

Still, the memories of having had Granger, and then lost her, hurt. Ten _sodding_ years and he still felt her loss as keenly as he ever had.

As he’d feared from the start of that relationship, she’d ruined him for anyone else.

Downing the rest of his glass, Draco set it aside and stood to leave. The room swayed once, but he had enough control not to fall down drunk. “I should be going, sir,” he said and made up some excuse about getting to a celebratory dinner with some sexy brunette that evening. “I’ll need to sober up before then.”

The Ambassador drunkenly escorted his guest to the door, making a crude remark regarding Draco’s ability to ‘perform’ for the lady in question later, and then he was free of the old man at last and heading for the ICW’s Lobby. The Floo he’d caught from there exited into a wizarding Parfumerie shop that looked out on the Rue du Rivoli.

Rather than heading straight for the Apparition point to go home, Draco made a split-second decision to instead get some fresh air and walk off his inebriation. Paris was a pretty city, and despite the fact he’d been there five months already, he’d hardly seen a quarter of what it had to offer. He headed for the wizarding section of the city first, only having been there once and visited a mere three or four of its more than fifty shops. Better to start where he was most comfortable.

Wandering past an overcrowded Quidditch shop, clothiers outfitting clients for the season’s black tie affairs, and a surprisingly popular cauldron and wand shop, he walked around aimlessly down cobbled, ancient alleyways, letting the crisp, winter air clear his head. When he’d sobered up enough, he stopped for a quick bite from a stall vendor selling roasted apples on sticks, and then decided to kill two birds with one stone, and shop for gifts for his parents for the upcoming Christmas holiday.

Lucius had been easy to buy for: the man had taken to wearing a pocket watch since the end of the war, after the Ministry had assigned him magical probation, restricting his use of his wand for a period of twenty years. The current watch chain his father wore at his hip was beginning to wear thin from the man’s habitual need to check it every few minutes, as if every second closer to magical freedom had to be counted down. It was time for a replacement, so Draco headed into the best jeweller’s on the Rue and procured an acceptable solid gold alternate. In addition, he threw in some new men’s cufflinks—emeralds and platinum, of course—for the Ministry New Year’s gala in a few weeks. His father was as much a cufflink hoarder as Daphne had been a shoe diva.

Draco’s mother had been quite a bit harder, however. No shop seemed to house anything unique enough to capture his mother’s expert eye and expensive taste. In the end, Draco decided an exotic Oriental tea might just be the ticket, so he headed into a small tea and spice shop on a corner.

A tinkling bell announced his arrival to the proprietor, who from the sound of it, was rifling around in the back. Weary of the many sellers on the Rue aggressively hawking their wares to him as he’d passed them earlier, Draco was thankful for the slight reprieve and the silence of the shop. He began to peruse the displays and shelves on his own to look for his mother’s gift, and eventually settled upon some Silver Tips Imperial Tea as the best of the lot. It was outrageously priced, of course, but not for a man of Draco’s means. Besides, nothing was too good for his mother.

He wrapped his knuckles upon the counter and cleared his throat to get the proprietor’s attention.

Hermione Granger walked through the ‘Employees Only’ entrance to greet him. The moment she set eyes upon him, she came to a complete halt.

“Draco?”

Overcome with emotions he’d spent ten years learning to compartmentalize, it took him a moment to snap out of his stupefaction and greet her.

“Hello, Granger.”

Twin blossoms of pink appeared upon her cheeks as she shyly smiled back at him. “H-how are you? It’s been a long time.”

For the first time in his entire life, Draco’s response was not scripted. In truth, it just popped out of his mouth…and he wanted to smack himself for it the moment it did:

“Ten years, six months, and eleven days.”

Once she recovered from her astonishment that he seemed to have been counting the days since their last meeting, Granger seemed to simply melt before him. Her shoulders relaxed, as did her expression, and her eyes glimmered with tears. “You didn’t forget me,” she whispered in awe.

 _Never,_ Draco thought. _How could I ever?_

Wiping at her eyes, she took a moment to compose her emotions, and Draco took that time to catalogue the changes in her. Her dark hair was longer, nearly to her waist, the curls relaxing with all that extra weight until the frizz she’d been so famous for during their school years was nearly gone. Her frame had remained much the same as it had been during their eighth year at Hogwarts, and the finger tips on her right hand were still stained with ink. Her cheeks had lost their baby fat, however, and so the pretty, roundish face he’d fallen for had mature into something more refined, sexier. She wore make-up now, just a touch here and there around the eyes, and she’d finally pierced her ears.

She still bit her bottom lip when she was nervous.

Just the sight of her straight, white teeth nibbling upon the tender skin of her mouth had Draco’s body waking up from its long slumber, taking notice, and reacting in ways that made his heart pound.

“Are you married?” he asked, suddenly desperate to be with her again. He pressed his body against the counter and leaned over it towards her. “Please tell me you’re not married.”

Slowly, she shook her head, and for one euphoric moment, Draco thought that _this_ was the reason for his taking a job in Paris, that fate had somehow contrived to give him this one thing it had so cruelly ripped from his hands long ago as reward for his having endured so much unhappiness for so long.

Then, she spoke and shattered his hope into a gazillion pieces.

“Theo and I decided we wouldn’t rush into such things.”

Draco’s stomach plummeted into his knees. “You’re…you’re still with Theo?”

“Yes. This is his shop, in fact.”

And right then and there, Draco thought death would be preferable to standing in her presence for one more second.

He’d known about his ex and his best friend getting together soon after Draco and she had broken things off, but for her to be with Theo still, after all this time… Obviously, it was real love between them. That meant there was no chance for there to be anything more than an acquaintance between them ever again. He’d blown his chance with Granger long ago when he’d made the wrong choice between love and duty.

Sorrow shot through him at such knowledge.

“I’m only filling in this afternoon here at the store, because Theo had an errand to run and I was able to get time off work,” she explained. “He should be back anytime, though. Did you want to wait for him to‒”

“No,” he said abruptly and moved away. “I can’t. I…I have to go, actually.”

With that, he turned for the door, having decided to go home and bury himself back in the bottle. That was one bad habit he’d adopted over the years that had never failed to give him the blessed numbness he’d required to make it through some nights.

“Draco, wait! Stop!” she called out.

He paused at the door with his hand on the knob, feeling as if his world was crumbling around him all over again. “It was good to see you again, Granger. Take care of yourself.”

With that, he walked out, leaving her and his heart behind a second time.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Chasing after Draco had been Hermione’s worst habit back during the two months they’d been together, and after everything that had gone done, she’d sworn never to be so weak again, especially where he was concerned.

But now, he was here in Paris. He’d come into Theo’s shop. What were the odds?

She was no proponent of fate, but if she had been, this would feel an awful lot like validation of the concept. It would make her believe that, perhaps, she was meant to go after him once more.

It took her a second to work up the nerve…and then she was running around the counter and to the door, flinging it open, and checking both sides of the street for a familiar shock of platinum hair. She found it hurrying away to her left and ran after it. “Wait, Draco, wait!” she cried out, but his long-legged stride took him away from her at a pace that was difficult for her shorter stride to easily match. She had to pump her arms and continue to shout his name to be heard over the city traffic beyond the wizarding’s section’s enchanted wards.

He finally seemed to hear her at the first major crossroads, stopping and turning to her with astonishment, as if he hadn’t actually expected her to run after him.

When she reached his side, out of breath and most likely sporting the craziest hair this side of the continental divide, she simply took his hand and held him in place. “S-stop. Come…back,” she said, gasping for breath and yanking him back towards her fiancé’s store.

Grudgingly, it seemed, Draco let her lead him back to the tea shop without another word.

After they returned, she flipped the sign in the front window to **CLOSED-FERMÉ** and with a wave of her wand, pulled the shades and locked the door. Then, she took him into the back area, into the tiny employee lounge and forced him down next to her onto the mini loveseat that took up much of the room. Their knees touched and the contact made Hermione’s head spin.

She’d never thought in a million years she’d ever get this chance to be close to Draco Malfoy again, except in her dreams. Now that she was, though, she had too many questions to ask. The problem was she didn’t know where to begin.

Draco solved the problem, by being the one to break the ice. “So, you and Theo. That’s…” He paused, as if trying to find the right word, and then in clear frustration, he ran a hand through the short fringe in his face, pushing it back from his eyes. “Yeah.”

“He’s a good man,” she admitted, looking down at the lovely engagement ring Theo had given her a year ago, seeing the space under it where it had already dented her skin, leaving his mark upon her. “He loves me very much, and I love him.”

Draco was quiet for a bit before, in typical Slytherin style, he replied to her statement with a question. “Then why did you chase me down the street and bring me back here?”

Hermione opened her mouth, prepared to tell him all manner of excuses, but her mouth chose that instant to be both brave and foolish.

“Because I’ve been counting the days, too. I couldn’t forget you, either.”

It was silent between them for a bit after that confession, and to Hermione, it felt as if the weight of it was simply too heavy for the air around them to contain. The room seemed to shrink before her eyes, the lights to dim, and she could feel the well of Draco’s magic pull at her, urging her closer.

Her heart crawled into her throat and her hands trembled at the thought of touching him again, of tasting his mouth and straddling his lap, of taking him out of his trousers and sinking down onto him once more. It would be so very easy to give into those desires…

“Even in wizarding circles, ten years is a long time to be with the same man, Granger,” he finally said, showing remarkable strength in resisting the peril she’d just shamelessly and carelessly thrown before him. “You’re bound to each other now, like it or not. Your magicks have likely merged without you even realising it.”

If she could sink into the floor right then to escape, Hermione would have taken that option in a nanosecond. She felt humiliated and ashamed that she’d thrown herself at her ex, when she had a fiancé who loved and trusted her as much as he did.

“And what about you?” she asked, wiping at the sudden flood of tears that again threatened her composure. “You and your wife–”

“–divorced five months ago.” He leaned a bit away from her, creating distance, as if he intended at any minute to extricate himself from the situation. “Hence the change in scenery…and work. And Daphne and I were never close, never in love. She hadn’t shared my bed in years before the end.”

Divorced? What did his parents think of that, she wondered?

“Oh. No children, then?”

He shook his head. “You?”

Hermione put her hand on her belly. “No.”

It was quiet for a while, as she struggled to keep the rest of her thoughts from erupting from her mouth and embarrassing her further. She assumed Draco was taking his cue from her, and so was startled when he finally did speak again.

“Granger…what am I doing here?”

“Buying tea?” she quipped, but grimaced over her own joke, knowing it wasn’t the answer either of them wanted to hear right then.

He took her hand in both of his and brought the tips up to his lips to press a small kiss to them.

The rush of her blood through her body made Hermione’s pulse pound loudly in her ears. Her mouth became suddenly too dry for comfort. She shivered with fear and with renewed anticipation. Dread and shame followed fast on those heels, however. She glanced into Draco’s face and met his eyes gazing back at her with such naked desire that she felt stripped bare by it.

The diamond of her engagement ring winked at her through the gap between his fingers.

“You were right, we can’t do this,” she told him and gently pulled away. “You were right to walk away earlier, right to remind me of my commitments. Theo and I are together. We have been for a decade, and I can’t be the kind of person who breaks his heart to appease my own. I won’t be.”

Draco sighed, and his shoulders drooped. “Our timing and circumstances have never been good,” he agreed and with a little effort, he stood from the small sofa and headed for the breakroom door. “Maybe in the next life.”

She watched him adjust his coat and pull a pair of winter-lined leather gloves from one of the pockets. As he pulled them on at the door, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at her. “For the record, Granger, I didn’t know that this was Theo’s shop when I came in her tonight, or that you were still together after all this time. I’ve haven’t spoken with him since graduation day, either.”

He left then, and the little bell above the front door jangled once in the distance to let her know he’d unlocked it and walked out of her life a second time.

Curling into a ball and leaning her head against the back cushions of the sofa, Hermione succumbed to the myriad of emotions she’d been repressing while in Draco’s presence. She mourned the loss of her first love all over again, knowing then that she was many times over a fool in all things related to love.

That’s how Theo found her not ten minutes later when he came in through the shop’s back door.

When she confessed everything to him, including her traitorous desire to give into the idea of an affair with Draco, her fiancé simply held her against his heart, told her he still loved her, and promised her everything would be alright. And just like she had many years before, she let herself believe in Theo’s words and take comfort in his arms. 


	9. Chapter 9

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

The days passed like rain over the city; they were gloomy, dark, and damp enough to make Draco more than a little uncomfortable in his own skin. They’d made him moody, irritated, and anxious. Consequently, to calm his frazzled nerves, he’d taken up some of his old habits in smoking and drinking, bad things he’d told himself he wouldn’t do after leaving England behind.

…And then, before he’d known it, it was Friday night again and the exhilarating freedom of the weekend yawned before him. Yet, to his utmost disgust, he wasn’t doing anything different now from what he’d been doing all week: fast drinking himself into a case of merciful oblivion in a bar whose name he couldn’t recall.

A darkly clad stranger unexpectedly appeared at his elbow and without any sort of fanfare, passed him a rolled parchment that was sealed with ribbon. Then, without a word, the stranger turned around and headed away into the crowd again, melting into the night.

“What the hell is this?” Draco called after the stranger and holding up the small, tightly wound letter, his words slightly slurred, his vision somewhat fuzzy around the edges. “Did you just serve me a court summons in a bloody bar? You fucking nonce!”

“Ah, bummed ya and left, he did,” the English bartender noted with a joking grin. “An’ he didn’t even buy you a drink, fer th’ trouble.” He poured another beer and set it down before Draco. “’ere. Fer yer troubles, mate. One expat to another.”

Draco accepted the offer with a grateful nod and a ‘cheers’ before downing half the glass in a single go, and only then did he open the note.

 

_**Draco,** _   
_**She’s waiting for you at the address below. Go to her. She’s been waiting a long time for you to be free and to come back to her.** _   
_**~ Theo** _

 

Suddenly Draco was alert…and very much aware of how screwed up he was right then.

“Do you have a Sobering potion?” he asked the bartender. “I’ll pay double.”

Thirty minutes later, in a flash of green light that reminded him all too uncomfortably of the Killing Curse, he appeared at the note’s destination. “Hello?” he called out, still a little tipsy, but vastly improved since taking the bartender’s poorly concocted potion. “Granger?”

The shadows shifted, and Draco’s wand was instantly in his hand. He’d never forgotten the lessons he’d learned under his aunt’s tutelage during the summer between fifth and sixth years…and that didn’t just include Occlumency.

“Draco?”

She stepped into the warm orange glow cast by the light of a row of nearby candles, and shoved the hood of her cloak down to reveal her face. It wasn’t, he noted, the same cloak as had belonged to the stranger who had passed him the note, for that had been dyed black, whereas Granger’s was a rich, vibrant wine colour.

Besides, she looked surprised to see him there.

“What? How?”

He held up the rolled letter.

She fished a similar one from her pocket and showed it to him.

They exchanged them and read. The note Hermione had received was similar to the one he’d been slipped by the mysterious stranger.

 

_**My Granger,** _   
_**He’s waiting for you at the address below. Fate has brought him back to us. Go and be with him, with my blessings.** _   
_**~ Theo** _   
_**P.S. We’ll talk after.** _

 

“It seems we were both led here for the same purpose,” he stated, quickly looking into the darker corners of the room, wondering if he could trust this gift. The war had taught him to be wary of anything that seemed too good to be true. “Apparently, your would-be husband wants us to make a cuckold of him before your nuptials are even said.”

“I don’t trust it.” Hermione had her own wand out and in her hand as well, held up in a defensive posture as she searched the opposite corners of the room from him. She summoned light with a sharp, _“Lumos.”_ “I didn’t see the face of the person who slipped me the note. It might not have been Theo at all. I work in an important ICW political office. This could be a set-up to take me down.”

“Ditto. Those were my thoughts, as well.”

From the middle of the room, there came a derisive snort. “Merlin, you two are the most stubborn fools I’ve ever encountered! Ten years to make up for _and_ you’ve been given my permission to knock boots until Judgment Day, and yet here you are _not_ falling on each other like starving wolves at a lambkin banquet? No wonder it took everything I had to get you to this place, now.”

Hermione’s wand grew brighter, the light extending outward, illuminating the entire room.

“Theo?”

Draco’s oldest friend sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes in frustration. “Hello, love. Look, can we skip the talk for later and get down to it? I’ve waited just as long to have you both as you have to be together.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

They absolutely did _not_ skip the talk, at Hermione’s insistence, and despite Theo’s sly attempt to reinstate his old, nasty habit of eluding her uncomfortable questions.

Perhaps it might have been better had they done so, however, as the one salient point that she took away from his wrung confession was that her fiancé had most definitely been well-sorted back in school by that blasted Hat. Theo was green-and-silver Slytherin all the way to his manipulative, little core.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she said, holding up a hand to create a ‘safe space’ in the conversation before she decided to bring violence into it. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. You’re telling me that not only have you been making plans for the better part of ten years for the three of us‒” She made a looping motion between her, Theo, and Draco to indicate they were a closed system. “‒to be involved in a rather scandalous _ménage à trois_ , but that you were also directly involved in the exploding of Draco’s marriage by getting his wife hooked on illicit potions—which, by the way, contained a contraceptive element to them, so she’d never be able to dominate, cheat, or otherwise tie him down with a child—and by encouraging her affair with that philandering playboy, Zabini, who has been, according to you, your best drug-buying client of all time? Have I got that right?”

The arrogant smirk Theo tossed her as he slowly exhaled a lungful of MJ-scented smoke, looked like something right out of the pages of the Malfoy family’s traditions. “It’s been closer to fifteen years of planning, actually—since the middle of third year, when I realised how much I wanted to bend you both over various pieces of furniture. The war sort of mucked things up, though.” He flicked the ash from his blunt and held it out to Draco, who took it and did a hit. “And your marriage to Greengrass, D. That certainly threw a Flooper into the works.”

Hermione declined the spliff when Draco held it out for her, wanting to keep most of her wits about her before Theo talked her into doing something she’d certainly fantasised about, but had never actually done with two men. From the way Draco was looking at them both, she got the impression that he’d been easier won over to the idea of fucking her alongside his best friend than she had. In fact, by the way they were eyeing each other, she thought it likely that they might have shared a girl at least once before in a similar manner back during their school years.

“How long have you been in the drug trade?” she finally asked her fiancé. “I thought you only bought the occasional weed for us to enjoy in the privacy of our home, but now that I consider it, our income is vastly larger than my pittance government salary and what you make off the shop. Even accounting for what was left of your family’s vaults post-war after the reparation payments were levied against your father’s involvement with the Death Eaters, we’ve been living beyond our means for years.”

Theo took another hit before answering her. “Since fifth year,” he finally admitted. “Who do you think was selling Umbridge all that pink sugar laced with a Calming Draught for her evening Chamomile?”

Draco started laughing, and it was a joyous sound that instantly turned back the clock on him by at least a dozen years.

“And would I be right in guessing that you’d passed something to Zabini at graduation when pretending to shake his hand and wish him luck,” she added, giving her lover an arch look. “That would have been right before you came over to me in the tent, if you’ll recall.”

He winced. “Saw that, did you?”

She nodded. “I did, but I’ve only just now guessed what you were doing back then, for the record.”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “If it helps, Blaise has been wild about Daphne since sixth year, and was no less angry about her marriage to Draco than any of us. Now, he has her back, completely free of anything having to do with Draco.”

She sighed. That little perk didn’t absolve Theo of contributing to either Daphne Greengrass or Blaise Zabini’s drug addictions. But then, they were grown-ups, and were responsible for their own bad habits, weren’t they? Still, they were going to have the discussion about Theo’s more illicit business avenues right now. A blunt now and then was harmless and actually quite medicinal, both physically and psychologically. It had certainly helped her deal with her post-war PTSD issues; no more shakes, no more depression, no more OCD behaviours, and consequently, she’d been able to actually talk through and find closure for her darker memories and fears without falling into panic attacks, thanks to the calming effect of the marijuana. Synthetic potions and Muggle pharmaceuticals, however, were in a whole different category and were right out, starting now. She’d make sure her fiancé understood that condition to their relationship.

“No more selling, and especially not to Zabini or Daphne,” she said, “Unless it’s a potion to cure their addictions entirely. Otherwise, no more drugs. Do you hear me, Theo? We’ll make it on our own without any of that evil in our house. I know how to keep to a budget.”

He held up the joint. “Can I keep this habit, at least? I do rather like it, especially when we’re having sex.”

She sighed. “Yes, fine, just no selling it. Buying for us is all I’m allowing.”

“Agreed. And yes, I can make up a potion to cure my client’s bad habits, if that’s what you desire, my dove. I’ll even brew it free of charge. Happy?” Her lover stood up and waved away the remainder of the spliff. “Now, have I answered enough of your questions? Because I’d really like to take you into the bedroom and shag until one of us is raw. I’m high enough that the sex is going to be fucking fantastic, too.” He glanced over at Draco. “And I’d really like to share her with you, finally. No more jealousy of who got there first, D, only the anticipation of who’s pleasuring her next.”

Draco glanced at her. “Nothing’s changed for me, only the years.”

Hermione’s heart skipped three beats. “I feel the same.”

“You’re good with this?” he asked. “We’re both going to have you, you know. It won’t be gentle, either.”

She looked between the two men she’d loved, separately, but equally, for ten long years, and nodded. Then, she held out her hands, and her boys each took one, hauling her to her feet, sighs of relief leaving them both.

They barely made it to the bedroom before Draco had her on her back once more.

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

God, he’d missed her. Missed the smell of her, the feel of her under him, the sounds of her Hermione-esque moans, and the way she said his name in that breathy, little voice that sounded like a plea for mercy. He’d missed the habit of taking her anywhere, at any time, and how she’d surrendered to him without much of a fight.

Ten years had been a lifetime to be away from this kind of bliss.

From between her legs, Draco swiped his tongue thought her long, pink slit and suckled upon her soft flesh with a hunger too-long denied. Her pussy was bare, her clit a hard, little knot, and she was gloriously wet from having orgasmed once already. The flavour that was uniquely hers, something sweet and subtle combined with an earthy, feminine musk, had him licking his lips to savour every drop and feasting upon her cunt as if he was a man starving for it.

She groaned and the sound was one of anticipation. It was a summons for him to look up the line of her petite, curvy body to watch with lusty fascination as Theo tied her wrists to the headboard— _oh, fuck, yes, another reason to love her_ —and began fondling her breasts. He recalled well how responsive her nipples were, and how she enjoyed them being teased. Just one touch, Draco knew, and she was lost to the need.

“Pinch her nipples…hard,” he bade Theo, focussed upon her expression as his friend did as requested, fucking into her depths with his tongue at the same moment.

She cried out at the duel pleasure, squirming and arching and gasping, helpless to stop any of it and clearly loving every second of such irresistible torture. Merlin’s balls, but she was beautiful like this, begging to be fulfilled as if her very life depended upon it.

Draco decided he’d give it to her at long last.

She was coming even as he thrust his cock to the hilt inside her in one easy glide, feeling her inner muscles ripple all around him and tug at his overly sensitive flesh. The hot, wet rush of her climax bathed him in liquid silk, and like some randy, unsophisticated teenager, Draco suddenly found it impossible to hold back his own orgasm.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed as his hips maneuvered back and forth under their own power, and he emptied himself into her.

“Been that long, old boy?” Theo teased him as he finished and began to flag and go soft. “Here, let me show you how a pro does it. Move aside.”

Too tired to argue, Draco slipped out of Granger’s cunt and rolled onto his side next to her to watch.

Sharing a witch with Theo hadn’t been something he’d done very often back in school, but they’d done it enough to know how to move around each other without making it uncomfortable. They’d just never shagged each other.

As he watched Theo lift one of Granger’s legs, bending it back and pressing it outward to open her up, Draco took a moment to consider what his best friend was really offering him: inclusion. He’d been on the outside since the war had tangled him up in its roots. His wants and needs had always been secondary in his marriage. Hell, even his parents, whom he genuinely believed did love him in their own ways, had used him for their own purposes. In all his life, the only people to ever truly want him for the person he was, and not for what he could bring to their table, had been Theo and Granger.

And now they were offering him everything he’d ever wanted: true companionship, sexual satisfaction, and…dare he hope it?…even love.

Granger let out a raucous moan as Theo penetrated her, taking it slow, ensuring maximum pleasure for them both. When he began pumping into her, steady and deep, dominating her with both his hands and his prick, Draco leaned up onto his elbow and took her nipple into his mouth once more. He drew on the taut point, letting his tongue lave over it and the suction of his mouth linger before allowing for a gentle release, only to repeat the motion over and over.

“Jesus, look at her face,” Theo hissed, the action of his hips increasing in strength and speed. “She’s loving this.”

Hermione’s cries rose, and she struggled against the bonds that held her constrained, but Theo gave her clit a little slap and chastised her…and Draco nearly came again as she replied, “Yes, sir” and stopped fighting against the pleasure, giving into it instead for a third, and then a fourth time. Only then did Theo allow himself to let go. His spine bowed, he grunted behind clenched teeth, and his hips shuddered and stilled as he released up into her.

“Bloody hell, so good, baby,” he cooed to her after, adding a few lazy thrusts at the end, just to make Hermione’s toes curl.

When he pulled out, his cock was covered in their combined come…and Draco’s erection nearly exploded. With a groan, he wrapped his hand around it, moving back in between Granger’s legs, and knowing she was probably too sore to take him again, instead he let himself come all over her pussy. He covered her, and then massaged it into her with his hand, feeling how very full she was from both of them already.

By then, Theo was undoing her bonds, rubbing her wrists and kissing them, praising her for her submission.

And Draco had made up his mind.

“I want this,” he told them both, tiredly leaning over the woman he loved and peppering her swollen mouth with tender kisses. “I want you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Nott, who was hovering over the bed, a blunt already between his fingers. “Every goddamned day for the rest of my life, I want this.”

Theo glanced once at Hermione, nodded, and then tossed Draco a wicked smirk.

“We’re all yours.”


	11. Epilogue

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~  
_EPILOGUE – One year later_  
~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

She could get used to this, Hermione thought, sipping her Mimosa while enjoying a foot rub. The scent of lavender oil filled the air all around, soothing her and helping to relax her sore, tired muscles.

Draco had given her quite the workout the night before, and after a hard week of wrangling legislation through the halls of the ICW, she was definitely easing into this much-deserved weekend break the right way: hedonism dialed up to ten, all innocence lost, and utterly unrepentant about any of it.

She sighed in happiness and chewed on the strawberry garnish to her drink.

Speaking of the devil, Draco appeared at her side and took her drink from her hand and set it aside. He moved between her legs without any further encouragement and for the second time in twenty-four hours, he tore her bra off her, much to her chagrin. He then ripped her knickers from her hips, growling to have at her. When he was in her once more, filling her with the heavy weight of him and shagging her with a strength that left her nearly breathless, Hermione dug her nails into him and held on to enjoy the ride.

He’d been trying to get her pregnant all month, and had been relentless towards that goal since she’d agreed to carry his heir first. Her career and his career at the ICE were, she felt, both at a good place and Theo’s shop was now bringing in enough business that, should she decide to take a hiatus from work to keep her pregnancy as stress-free as possible, there would be no financial worries.

The only worry was, right this moment, her underwear bills…

“Could you, please, not ruin my things?” she panted in his ear, nearly screaming in pleasure as he hit her just right over and over again. “Draco, are you listening to…ooh!”

Draco ignored her censure and distracted her by shifting his hands to cup her bum and drag her arse off the bed. Then, he did something even more nefarious: he bent his head and licked over her nipple, before drawing it into his mouth and sucking on it hard. His distraction worked like a charm on her, as always, and all talk of ripped knickers fell by the wayside in favour of the amazing things he was making her feel once more.

It wasn’t until they’d both come and were lying spent and sated in bed that she finally continued the discussion. “Tearing my clothes off me only means I’m going to have to buy more replacements, you know.”

Theo, who had been watching the fun from the sidelines, and now scooted Draco over to situate himself between her legs, laughed in the face of her frustration. “I wouldn’t say that was such a bad thing,” he argued, stretching a Muggle condom over his fully-erect length and then sliding inside her once he was completely sheathed. “You do have rather exquisite taste in matching sets, and I always love seeing what new designs hit the market.” He rolled them over so she was settled atop him. “Besides, what’s an addict to do when he desperately needs a hit of his favourite drug…especially now that he’s given up his _other_ favourite drugs, all so his sperm count will remain high and healthy? No alcohol, no weed—that’s bound to make a sane person crack, love.”

“Nonsense, I’ve given up those things, too, and I’m perfectly fine,” she argued, bouncing up and down on his cock with fervour. “And quit dodging my issues, you slippery Slytherin: he does it every time. I purchase a nice, new set of bras and knicks, and after only one chance to wear them, they end up on the floor, torn to shreds and unable to be fixed by magic. I tell you, my lingerie bill is eating up our paychecks!”

From his position beside the bed and on his feet now, Draco leaned down towards her face, chuckling. “Granger, Granger, Granger,” he murmured, kissing her pouting lips as she rode Theo to glory, “if my impatience to have at you is the absolute worst of all my addictions then, like always, I’m sure you can find it in your loving, little heart to forgive me. It is, after all, your best habit.”

With that, he went to catch a shower. She sighed, watching him walk away.

Yes, she supposed she could, because he was right: she always did.

Turning back to Theo, she focussed all her love and energy on him next, reminding him with her body and soul that her adoration of him was unequivocal as well. When it was her turn to climax once more, this time it was his name falling like a prayer from her lips—which was right and good, because he had saved her and Draco both, after all.

 

**_~FIN~_ **


End file.
